Final Fantasy X The Disco Years!
by Amberlee
Summary: [Amazing! An update!] The cast of FFX lives 1970's New York City and spends a lot of time at Studio 54. Rated for language and situations.
1. So you decided to read this twisted thin...

**Disclaimer:**  Short and sweet folks.  I don't own these characters, Square does.  They have been abducted and transported to 1970's New York for my evil pleasure and demented imagination.  They will be bashed, made fun of, turned on their ear, and generally messed with.  Even my beloved Auron will have more than his share of moments OOC.  

Periodically, famous personages of the era will make appearances.  I intend to take piss out of them too.  It's an equal opportunity hack job folks.  If you have a favorite singer, group, star, or what not you'd like to see added, let me know.  I'm happy to take suggestions here.

Don't get pissed.  I won't care.  Don't sue me, I'm broke.  Review or I will hunt you down like the dog you are. *evil grin*

And now….on with:

**Final Fantasy X – The Disco Years!**

**~~Narrator Voice Does Setup~~**

Once upon a time, there was a quaint backwater world called Earth.  The strange bipedal inhabitance thought that they were rather advanced for having outgrown the superstitious use of magic and liked to depend on things they called machines to make their lives easy.  This allowed them to be hedonistic little organisms that spent their hours nattering about things that even a worm would know were nothing more than hot air.  It also allowed them to screw and party as much as possible and spend what little time they had left afterward in the pursuit of little pieces of paper they called money.  This money, according to all reports, was exchanged for yet more nattering, screwing, and partying.

When you think about it, not a bad setup really.

So, anyway, after several million years of evolution and several thousand of human history there came a decade to end them all.  The nineteen seventies!

This decade, opulent and vapid, has gone down in the annals of the known universe as perhaps the most decedent and pointless in all of known creation.  A small group of unlikely beings, whirling around the vortex of Studio 54 in a city known as New York, would soon become embroiled in a bizarre and twisted tale.

And this, my friends, is their story…

**~~Narrator Dies and There is Much Rejoicing~~**

*Scene opens*

My name is Auron.  I fuckin' hate New York.  It's full of the scum of the Earth.   What the hell I'm doing in this God forsaken city I will never understand.  Ok.  Well.  I guess I do.  I'm here to do my job.

I'm a cop, but no one really knows this.  Well, that's not true either.  I work independently for the FBI and ATF as an undercover man.  My friend Braska, a missionary I met while I was stationed in Vietnam, knows.  My friend Jecht, the rollerball star, has got his suspicions but, surprisingly enough, is too smart to ask questions.  Other than those two, and my handler, everyone just thinks I'm another lowlife hustle man working for the triads on the street.  I work hard to keep this impression.  It keeps my ass alive.

It also keeps me in women, money, and blow when I feel the urge.  Over all, it's not a shabby life.  I have to do a lot of lying, but I'm used to it now.  Sure, my naru collars and pooka beads date me a little in this world of polyester leisure suits, but the Bruce Lee look always suited me.  I'm a half breed and don't give a flying fuck for fashion anyway.

It's 1977.  The world is full of easy love and cocaine.  It's my job to be where the action is, passing information on to those with narrow minds and narrower vision.  But, that's not my concern.  All I have to do is point the dog to flush and let the flatfoots make a bust every so often.  In exchange, I have a paid for studio apartment and a sweet little red Alfa-Romeo Spider.  How can I go wrong?

But you don't give a shit about that.  All you want to know is what really happens inside Studio 54.  Well, my friend, I'll be happy to tell ya all about it…


	2. and it gets stranger

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Tidus is high off his ass again.  Damn.  Glad I called Jecht.  This kid is gonna be the fuckin' end of me._

The blond boy, flying on coke and amyl nitrate "poppers," was in the process of blowing a guy in the restroom stall next to Auron's.  He had to give the kid his due – the boy could suck a golf ball through a straw.  His old man sure didn't like that his kid swung both ways, and usually beat the shit out of him for it, but that wasn't Auron's department.  Keeping the kid out of jail as a favor to his buddy was.

Auron finished taking a piss, zipped his fly, and decided it was time for Tidus' party to end for the evening.  He walked to the door of the stall and planted a well-aimed roundhouse that broke the latch and sent the thing careening inward.  It smacked the blond in the back, causing him to miss on his rhythm and choke on the man he had in his mouth.  

_Of course it's Seymour.  Nice of the guy to give Tidus blow for a blow.  This pimp is on my short list to turn over to the feds.  Bastard really pisses me off.  I can't wait for him to make a wrong move.  But, he's connected to Yunalesca and Yevon. I can't mess the triads in that kind of shit..._

The raven haired man reached forward and grabbed Tidus by the collar, hauling him off Seymour and tossing him onto the floor behind him with an unceremonious thud.

"Party's over, pretty boy," he said.  "Called Jecht, and he's on his way.  Might want to wash the coke off your face before he gets here..."

"Man!  Auron, you suck," Tidus whined.  "Why do you always do this to me?"  The boy got off the floor.  He moved to the sink and started to wash his face.

"As for you," Auron pointed a finger at Seymour, "you can have one of your Janes give you some action to finish that off.  This boy is off limits.  Got me?"

The languid man with dyed blue hair stood and put himself back in his pants.  "Well.  If it isn't Auron.  Want him all for your self?"

"Fuck off, Seymour."

The pretty man batted his eyes and smiled.  "Don't mind if I do.  If you will excuse me…"  He brushed past Auron, making sure to cop a feel on his way by.  Auron's eyes narrowed and a growl came out of his throat.

"Touchy, touchy…"

--------------------------------

Wakka, checking out Lulu's ass as she bent to take a customer's order, tripped over a chair and fell on his face.  A crowd of people nearby, high on laughing gas, erupted in snickers and the bartender turned as red as his afro.  The blond kid, Tidus, came over to help him up.  Wakka didn't know what to make of the guy.  He seemed to slide both ways.  The boy, partial to coke and in tight with that pimp Seymour, hit on the band girls Rikku and Yuna like there was no tomorrow but liked to blow the customers in the restroom for extra cash.  Recently, he'd taken to hitting on Wakka in his spare time.

"I'm ok man," he said as he pushed the little freak away from him.  Tidus' face fell and he seemed disappointed.  "I gotta work, so check someone else brudda."

"Ya know," Tidus said, "it usually works better when you TELL the person you're interested."

Wakka glared at the blond and walked off.  He had drinks to sling, and the son of a rollerball king was just too spoiled to bother with.

------------------------

Bass pounded and the smell of sex was heady.  Flashing lights moved in time with the music and a disco ball spun overhead - flinging fractured light across the half naked bodies of dancers.  Auron moved through the throng and found himself a seat where he could view the orgy that was a dance floor at Studio 54.  His connections, threads, and links to drugs got him in the door any night of the week.  He had to admit, there were worse places to spend an evening.

"What'll ya have, handsome?"

Auron sighed.  That waitress chick, Lulu, was hitting on him again.  Though she had a set of knockers, she just wasn't his type.  All he wanted was a scotch, damn it, not a fuck.  

"You know my usual - Glenlivet, straight."  After a moment, and a funny expression, Auron continued.  "Got any Toll House cookies in this joint?"

Lulu had never heard this request from the man before. She was intrigued.  "I dunno.  I suppose I can check.  What gives?  You smoke some weed and get the munchies?"

"Want your tip?  Just get the damn cookies."

Two scotches and an hour later, a fresh hot batch of Toll House cookies on a simple white plate appeared in front of him.  "There ya go.  Cookies."

Grinning, the raven haired man said, "Now I need another scotch.  And a 7up.  Separate.  Not mixed!"

Lulu was burning with curiosity now.  What the hell did you do with scotch, Toll House cookies, and 7up?  The woman, wearing her trademark black vinyl dominatrix outfit, slid over to the bar and came back quickly with the requested items.  What she watched next gave her the willies.

Auron popped a cookie in his mouth and munched slightly.  Then, without swallowing, he took a long drag of Glenlivet and swirled it in his mouth.  He inhaled deeply and his eyes flashed open slightly.  Then he swallowed and chased the thing with 7up. 

_Oh, God damn!  I'll never get over that.  The fumes make my whole face FEEL the chocolate.  So sweet…_

The man smacked his lips and exhaled.  The smile of satisfaction reminded Lulu of a man smoking a cigarette after orgasm.  Auron turned to and declared, "My dear, bring me the bottle.  If you are lucky I'll get drunk enough to reconsider my long standing decision not to fuck you…"

-----------------

Jecht was pissed.

"God damn it, Auron!  What do you mean you haven't seen him?  You called me and told me to pick his sorry ass up.  I have a game tomorrow.  Sleep is usually a good idea."

Auron was drunk, full of cookies, and happy as a lark.  He couldn't understand why Jecht was so pissed off.  It wasn't like the little blond boy wouldn't come home.  He had to.  He had no job and dad's money kept him supplied.

"Sit down and have a cookie, Jecht.  We'll find the boy.  He wouldn't have left. He knew you were coming.  He knows better than to take off."

The rollerball player picked up a cookie and looked at it.  He popped the thing in his mouth, took a drag of scotch from the bottle, and performed the same maneuver Auron had earlier.  "Shit, Auron.  How did you manage to get me to do something so messed up as drink aged scotch with cookies?"

"Because you are a man with good taste, Jecht.  You're an asshole, but you have good taste.  If you didn't, you wouldn't have picked me as a friend."  Auron grinned.

"Fuck off, Auron."

The raven-haired man laughed.  Turning his head he gazed at the wash of people on the dance floor and his eyes narrowed.  "Uh, Jecht.  I know that I'm wasted, but I could swear that Tidus is crawling all over that woman on the stage and peeling his clothes off."  A hand lifted to point toward the stage.

"Jesus!  See ya later!"  Jecht took off like a shot before some paparazzi scum took a picture of his son and tried to bribe him with it.

Auron threw his head back and continued to laugh  _ Ah yes, never a dull moment here..._


	3. Braska's a missionary? That's a shocker...

How do I get myself into this shit?

Braska called me about an hour ago with his panties in a bunch.  He was going on about Yuna again, and I finally decided that shleping over to his place and skimming some lunch was better than having the phone permanently embedded into my ear.  I pulled on a shirt and leather jacket, grabbed my keys, and headed for SoHo.

So now, I'm sitting on this ratty couch, drinking a Tab and eating a ham sandwich, while I listen to the same old line of shit.  You'd think the missionary would figure it out.  Oh well.  The girl IS his daughter.  I suppose he just can't let go of the idea that she'll be a virgin till she's eighty.

I've heard all this crap so much I can spout it verbatim.  Admittedly, the man does have a few points.  Yuna IS pretty young -- she's also attractive.  If she weren't jailbait, I might actually have to check her out.  She's that much of a looker.  Her ass isn't as tight as her cousin Rikku's, but her half-breed looks and dual color eyes really give her a bit of mystery that a lot of men at 54 find intriguing.  Then there's the fact that she's innocent as shit.  The girl's been raised in the backwater.  Braska carted her around with him to the far reaches of fuck nowhere, preaching the gospel and working with organizations like the Red Cross and Peace Corps.  Chick doesn't have a fucking clue how bad it can be out there.  For her it's all a game.  New York is fun and exciting – something she's never experienced in her short seventeen years on the planet.  The freedom seems to be going to her head.

When Rikku got her a gig working at 54 as a dancer in the reviews I thought Braska would implode.  He'd done everything that his passive and idealistic personality could think of to dissuade her from spending time in the "den of iniquity."  I could have told him that hours of Jesus lectures weren't gonna fuckin work, but he didn't ask for my advice.  She'd been my kid and I'd have just kicked her ass and let her sulk.  Instead, they fight constantly and the girl spends most of her time slamming the door to her room in her fathers face and shouting "Jesus Dad!  I'm just making some money!  It's not like I take any of the drugs or turn tricks or something!"

And she doesn't.  That's the wild part.  The girl honestly doesn't.  I know.  I keep an eye on her just like I do the fuck-up of an excuse for a boy Tidus.  I've had to muscle a few older SOB's, or imply that she was my bitch to keep some dick from pawing her, but for the most part, the girl stays clean.  I don't think she's even had a cig!

So, about once every two weeks, I get "the phone call" -- Braska in a panic over Yuna's immortal soul and for some reason, known only to the preacher and God, calling ME to hear him confess.  When the hell did I become the resurrection?

It's warm in here.  Wonder if the man's got a beer?  What the fresh hell am I smoking?!  Braska and alcohol…RIGHT.  Might as well ask for a joint Auron. That he might actually have...

Oh.  Well.  Now this is kinda new.  

Shit!  Braska's gotten posted again!

"What do you mean she's not going?"

Now I'm really fuckin' worried.  No wonder Braska is so upset.  Seems he's supposed to go to some little backwater shithole in Africa for the next three years and Yuna is having none of it.  She says she's staying in New York.  Took off out of the apartment this morning after getting the news, running on no sleep after a shift at 54 last night.  The preacher hasn't seen her since.

"Braska, calm down.  At worst, I know where she'll be tonight and I can catch up with her there.

Now the man wants to go to the club!  Oh, that's not gonna fly.  First of all, Rubell would take one look at the man and say, "Go home and change" or "You've got to be kidding!"  The guy is harsh.  If he doesn't like you, you don't get in his club.  And that bouncer Kimahri will set a man on his ass.  Rubell fucking told CHER to take a hike!  CHER!  And, if I want to keep in his good graces, I'm not gonna push my luck by trying to get him to let Braska in the joint.  I also like to keep the preacher in the dark about the seamier side of my "other life."  Having him see me in my element is NOT something I ever want to happen.  

Damn.  Looks like it's time for old "uncle Auron" to step in and take control.  

"Look.  Let me handle this.  No offence man, but you have fucked this up by the numbers with her.  I haven't said anything to you about it up to now cause I figure I don't have kids and it's your call.  But this is too much.  I have to deal with rough people all the time.  I know what the real world is like, Braska.  And, though I love ya for it, your idealism and "love thy neighbor" bullshit just doesn't cut it on the street.  That girl will be defenseless out there.  YOU let ME talk with her.  I'll sort it out.  Guarantee you, she'll be home tomorrow morning."

Now I'm getting the "how can I ever thank you" and "you really shouldn't swear so much" shit.  Man, I really must love this guy.  I suppose when someone saves your life it bonds you in a way you just don't understand.

"I gotta get going.  I've got a drop to make and my handler wants an update.  Then, I need to get ready to go out.  I'll see you in the morning."


	4. And Kimahri is a black man who played fo...

Keys in hand, Auron launched himself over the back of his convertible Alpha Romeo as bullets flew past his head.  Sliding into the drivers seat, he jammed the key into the ignition as he ducked low and pulled a standard military issue M1911-A1 .9mm semi auto from beneath the passenger seat.

_FUCK ME!_

To say the drop had gone badly was the understatement of the year.  He'd had a bad feeling about it from the get go.  Something about the location just didn't jive.  Jersey City was hellhole in his book.  The only place he liked less was Union.  He'd rather do a drop in the middle of fucking Queens for Christsake.

The place had few windows and was in a rather inconspicuous warehouse near the docks.  He had taken a spin around the building before deciding where to leave his ride and could only see one entrance or exit.  It had been a perfect place for a setup.

Auron turned over the ignition and heard a bullet clang as it punctured the beautiful cherry red lacquered exterior of his baby.

_Oh, now you've pissed me off!  That's gonna take body work!_

The raven-haired man turned and used the side mirrors to target as he raised the gun to clear the headrests and fired shots at his attackers.  Then, he slammed the car into first and took off like a bat out of hell.

_Even money says Seymour's behind this little hoedown.  Fuckin' bastard.  I'm gonna get his ass if it's the last thing I do…_

The tachometer on the dash was pushing red as Auron hauled ass away from the fray.  He was sure someone was going to try and follow and he had to get on the highway quick.  He slammed into second and whipped the car around a corner, heading for the exit gates.  Auron was smoking when he hit 169 headed for the Bayonne Bridge and Staten Island.  

_A quick tour should lose anybody and then I can get home.  I'll stop somewhere and use a payphone to update the handler._

Something was stinging Auron's left shoulder and he felt a little warm.  He took his eyes off the road a second to look.  

_Well, SHIT!  Just fuckin' great!  I'm gonna have to get that stitched, and my new leather coat is toast.  Can this day get any worse?_

The coat, in fact, was probably what saved Auron from a more substantial wound.  He growled as he paid the toll for the bridge and flew into Staten headed for 440 and down to Pleasant Plains and Wolfe's Pond Park.  After a quick stop to make his phone call, the wounded man checked the damage to his vehicle.  A few puncture holes in the right side panel that could be repaired at a local body shop without questions.  Taking 278 to the Verrazano-Narrows toll bridge and Brooklyn, it wasn't long before he hit the Brooklyn bridge and slid into Chinatown.  

_Now.  Time to get this arm taken care of…_

He stopped at a small shop off Columbus Park, and stashed the car in an alley.  Darting inside, he spoke in fluent Cantonese to the small woman at the desk.  After a little chatter, Auron was taken to a back room where an older man with round glasses and white hair greeted him.

"Auron-san!  Konnichiwa.  Do you like the new receptionist?  Just in from Hong Kong.  Nice, ne?"

Auron laughed.  "Yes, quite a sweet ass on that one, Masao-san.  You send for her, or just get lucky?"  The raven-haired man knew his doctor's predilection for youthful petite Chinese women. 

"Wouldn't you like to know?" the old man said as he grinned from ear to ear.  "So, what brings you to me without an appointment?  That?"  Masao pointed at the hole in Auron's jacket.

"Hai."

"And I suppose I am not to ask how you got a bullet near your arm, ne?"

"Hai"

The old man sighed.  "Auron-san, one day you are going to have to stop this foolishness.  You are getting too old."

"And you are getting too old for sweet cherries from China, but I don't see **you** slowing down," he responded.

Masao shrugged.  "Get the coat off and we'll see how bad it is.  I'll get my needles."

A few minutes later Auron was stripped to the waist.  His arm had been cleaned with antiseptic and the wound prodded to be sure there were no fragments.  Now, Masao was placing thin needles in various locations while Auron breathed deeply.

"Can you feel this?"  Masao pressed his fingers against several spots around the wound.  Auron did not flinch or move.

"Feel what?"

The doctor nodded to himself and made swift work of stitching up the laceration.  He then removed the acupuncture needles and admonished Auron a final time.

"Don't let me see you in here with those ripped out.  Restrict your range of motion with that arm for about four days.  That means no dojo for you.  If I see you at Takashi's when I walk to and from the office, I will be rather upset.  Come back on Friday and I'll take the stitches out."

Auron made an impatient gesture as he pulled the leather jacket back on.  He didn't bother with the blood soaked shirt.  "Got someplace I can ditch this?" he asked.

Masao held out a hand.  "I'll take care of it."

Pulling his wallet from the back pocket of his pants, Auron slid out a hundred.  He handed it to Masao with the shirt.  "To help keep the honey in lipstick, Masao-san."

The old man shook his head.  "If your parents were still alive, Auron-san, they would be dead from shock."

Auron chuckled and grinned as he went out the door.

--------------------

Auron took a cab to 54.

He'd left his little Spider at a body shop in Little Italy to have the bullet holes repaired.  Alexander never asked questions as long as you paid him cash.  He gave the key to the middle-aged shop owner and said "LeDonne, I expect her back in the normal pristine condition."

He got a nod in response.  "Want a ride home?  I'm about to close up for the day."

"Sure.  Saves me some cab fare."

So, Auron was standing outside the club in his black Sergio Valentes and a red silk shirt open to the waist.  He'd been sure to put a small supply of coke and quaaludes on him before heading out the door for the evening.  He wasn't looking to push, but a lot of people knew he carried.  Better to have a little available for sale than have questions asked.

He strode past the line of people waiting to enter the club and walked up to Kimahri.  

_Damn.  I will never get over how **huge** this mother fucker is.  The NFL is really missin' this man's black ass._

As a "Master of the Velvet Ropes", no one got in 54 without getting past the huge bouncer.  Kimahri was an impressive man.  Not a bit of fat on the six foot ten frame and built like a brick house, he had played college football until a particularly shit tackle had blown out his knee.  Four surgeries later, the doctors told him he'd never play again.  Now the man lived with his grandmother in the Bronx, taking care of the lady and working 54.  

Kimahri flashed a grin at Auron as he approached.  The two couldn't be called friends, but they had an understanding.  The former ball player liked Yuna and looked out for her when Auron wasn't around.  

"Hey, brother.  What's shakin?" the half-Japanese man inquired.

The so-black-he-was-almost-blue skinned Kimahri shrugged and pointed to the line.  "The usual"

Auron did a quick glance.  Nothing really spectacular tonight.  People had been known to try almost anything to get in the club.  They offered money and drugs.  They stripped naked and performed oral sex on the street.  Once, Auron had seen two women go at it in front of Kimahri so intently that he'd almost gotten off just watching them.  It was amazing what some people would do to get in 54.

"She inside?" Auron inquired.

Kimahri just nodded.  He knew whom Auron was talking about.

The raven-haired man sighed.  "Look, I need some help.  She can't leave tonight without me.  I need to have a talk with her.  Her father is gonna drive me fuckin' crazy if I don't get her home by morning."  He looked up into Kimahri's face.  "Can I count on ya?"

White teeth flashed in an almost catlike grin.  The deep bass voice said, "No problem, man."  He jerked his head to the side, indicating that Auron could go past and enter.

Auron thumped the ex-ball player on the chest with the back of his hand as he left.  "Stay cool, jack…"


	5. What other fic gives you Auron with drug...

**Note:** I am going to try to post two or three more chapters of this story in the next month before I leave for China. At that point, all updates will halt until my return in mid/late October. I have no real outline for this fic. It's all just inspiration and experimentation. Mignonne, Freddie chapters to arrive next! Everyone else, if you have a star you want to see in this fic, or a song you'd like me to fit in, write me. I'm happy to incorporate them if they actually visited, or were played at, 54 in the 70's. Also, be aware that I'm likely to make stars IC but wacked out.  
^_^

~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~

So, here I am again.  Night after night, the same old shit.  I put on an outfit, grab some coke and a few pills, and hit the street.  I always end up here.  54.

I think about stayin' home.  I think about skippin' the scene.  I think about ditchin' this double life.

Then, I think about how dull it would be to play Mr. Joe Average with a station wagon, two kids, and a pooch; kick myself in the ass; and walk out the door smiling.

Braska's got it right in a way – this **is** a den of iniquity.  It's hell.  It's heaven.  It's everything in between.  Rubell is in the business of fantasy.  A mechanic from Jersey can clean his ass up, put an a pair of tight pants, flash a smile and some sex appeal and mingle with stars.  With royalty.  Real honest-to-Christ royalty.  Once a month, a Saudi Arabian prince flies seven thousand miles just to press his tan flesh against every beautiful woman he can see.  Then, when he calls it a night, he flies his well fucked, drugged up, happy Arabic ass back to Saudi at dawn on his private plane fueled with oil from his own country.  And when he's hot, sweaty, hard as a rock, and flying on coke with three women grinding him on the dance floor while Wild Cherry sings "Play that Funky Music," you know what he says?  He says that 54 is the only place on earth where he can feel totally free.

Preach on.

Princess Grace comes to this club.  Liza and Elton, Bowie and George Burns, Travolta and Truman Capote.  Nobodies and millionaires, teens and transvestites, octogenarian disco queens, creeps and cultural icons - you see them all in one night on the floor of 54.  Steve calls it "tossing the salad."  He cranks out the booze, drugs, music, and sex like it will never end.  It's his motto – the party lasts forever.

More power to him.

I hate tell him; the party **will** end.  It always does.  Of course, that doesn't mean I'm not gonna enjoy the hell out of the ride like everyone else.  I'm not fuckin' stupid.

"Hey, Wakka, hand me a blue ribbon.  And keep the change, I'll be back."

Normally, I get here and it's all fun and games.  Make a few contacts, do a little business, set up for the next bust.  Not tonight.  I've got a score to settle and I need to jerk a knot Yuna's ass.  Two bitch slaps in one night.  Should be interesting.

First things first.  Seymour.  That son-of-a-bitch is going down.  Where's that god damn waste of fuckin' existence slithered off to?  Even in 54, that creep's hair stands out like a whore on the sidewalk.  He's not on the dance floor.  Looks like I have to troll.

Time to hit the balcony.

Any man who can walk through 54's balcony and not get a hard-on has got to be impotent.  This place sees more action than the back of a '57 Chevy.  Right now, I can see three people wearing nothing but body paint; two men dressed like gladiators and some model having a threesome; Mick Jagger getting a blow job (Man I love the Stones!  I'll have to talk to him later…); and countless faceless shadowed forms in various states of undress crawling all over each other in an effort to satisfy some primal lust that this place just seems to bring out in people.  God Damn!  I need a cigarette!

"What do you want, Tidus?"

Jesus.  Of course, the kid is up here.  Where else, other than on his knees in a bathroom stall or the dance floor, is he gonna be?

"No.  I'm not slippin' you any ludes.  You know, you keep this shit up and I'm gonna drag your ass to Betty Goddamn Ford myself."

Jecht and I gotta have a serious rap about this kid.  I think I'll have him over next week for pizza, beer, and some Mary Jane.  I got some nice shit this week from Panama.  I'm keeping some for the private collection.  

"Where's Seymour?"

Hell, no wonder Tidus is hitting me up for a score.  He hasn't seen the dick either.  

"Stay out of trouble tonight, or I'll kick your ass.  Got me?"

Yeah, Yeah…Uncle Auron…blah blah…

So, if Seymour's here, he's in the dungeon.  God I hate the dungeon.  I know it's the VIP lounge.  I know all the big names hang there.  But, I'm sorry, it's a trussed up musty dank basement that just happens to have plush velvet seating and a Hollywood A list.  Not much my scene.  

That pimp Seymour loves it.

Oh well.  Glad I brought the coke.  I'm gonna need it down there…


	6. In which Seymour is a sick twisted man a...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Auron stopped at the bar and scored another blue ribbon from Wakka before heading for the stairs.  Descending down the narrow stairwell into the basement of 54, he pressed himself against the cold concrete wall to allow Lulu to pass.  The waitress smiled and, turning sideways, rubbed up against Auron as she ascended the stairs.

_Jesus! That chick just doesn't give up!  _

Moving down the dark hallway, he dropped the empty beer bottle in a bus tub that a club employee was carrying and waved at a couple near the metal door leading to the dungeon.  "Hey!  I love the new album."  John and Christine McVie smiled and waved back.  "Say hi to Lindsey for me..."

He passed through the door metal door and down a service corridor, nodding to the bouncers that guarded the stars that wanted a bit of privacy.   Finally, he reached the cage door that lead to the only place more exclusive than the DJ booth and Rubell's office – the dungeon.  Stopping just inside the darkened room he quickly found what he was looking for.  Seymour was lounging next to a cherub statue in the middle of the room.  Glaring, he made a straight line for the blue haired man. 

_Time to even the score…_

Seymour looked up from his drink to see a very angry Auron striding toward him.  The round boyish face broke into a smile as he said,  "Oh, Auron!  Don't you look stunning!"  He practically leered at the raven-haired man as he approached.  "Red becomes you..."

Auron got in the pimp's face and said, "Surprised to seem me, Seymour?"

Reaching out a hand, Seymour flicked Auron's ponytail and then placed the appendage to the injured shoulder and dug in his manicured nails.  "And why would I be?" he asked smoothly.

Growling in anger and pain, Auron stared daggers at the man in front of him.  His voice was low and full of violent intent.  "I'm gonna put you six feet under you son-of-a-bitch."

"Temper temper, Auron," Seymour chided.  "Don't upset Rubell.  He likes me, you know."

Auron reached up and ripped Seymour's hand off his shoulder.  "I don't give a fuck what he likes," he growled.  "Your ass is mine."

"Oh, I think not."  His voice pleasant and controlled, Seymour's eyes narrowed slightly.  He leaned in toward Auron and licked his lips.  "But I could arrange something similar."  Pressing forward, the young man put his face next to Auron's and whispered in his ear.  "Tell me, do you like it rough, Auron?  Cause I enjoy pulling long hair while I bend a man over my desk and take his ass."

In a sudden movement, Auron's hand shot out and wrapped itself around the pretty man's throat.  The sweet, almost innocent look on Seymour's face disappeared and an expression of contempt replaced it.  Thumb pressed dangerously near Seymour's trachea, Auron glowered at the blue haired pimp but didn't execute the kill.  

Seymour had a knife pressed against Auron's stomach.

Entwined together in a strange embrace, the two enemies stared each other down.  Finally, Seymour said, "Now that's just not smart, Auron. And you never seemed like a stupid man."  The blue haired hustler brushed his lips against Auron's cheek as he drew back to look him in the eyes.  "Besides, you should never make a John choose between his drug dealers.  It's bad for business..."

Teeth clenched, Auron dug his nails into Seymour's neck and drew a little blood before roughly releasing him.  His eyes were black with rage.

Seymour smiled gaily and batted his long eyelashes.  Nose to nose with Auron he whispered, "Much better.  We'll finish this conversation another time..."  In the din of clacking bottles, conversation, and thudding base, the click of the knife blade settling into its handle was drowned out.  With great economy of movement, the indolent drug dealer put away the weapon.  "Hopefully, you'll be wearing less clothing..."  Seymour's eyes drifted down and he copped a feel as he brushed against Auron and walked away, grinning.

"Fuckin' Bastard," Auron growled at no one.  He was so pissed he could hardly see straight.

_I should have packed a piece.  I coulda taken that prick out back and finished this._

Auron pondered how he could manage to kill Seymour and get away with it.  He'd snuffed a lot of guys in Nam and didn't have a problem with punking the asshole, but he was – in theory – a cop.  And it didn't look good when a cop shot a man in cold blood.  

_Sometimes it just don't pay to be the good guy._

In seconds, he crossed the room and was at the bar ordering up a bottle of vodka.  The almost naked bartender had barely put the bottle on the counter when Auron heard a voice next to him say, "Have you got a matchbook, dear?  My lighter's out and I'm dying for a cig!"

Without thinking, Auron reached in his front jeans pocket and pulled out a silver plate zippo.  "Here.  Take this."

"Are you sure?  Quite a nice lighter to be giving away."

He twisted the cap off the Stoli and poured out half a glass before he put the bottle down.

"I keep a spare."  He turned to look at the source of the voice and almost did a double take.

"I'm Freddie," the man said, extending a hand.  A shy smile played on his face.

The slightly bucktoothed grin was instantly recognizable to any rock fan – and Auron was an avid album collector.  Shaking his head lightly, he started to chuckle.  "Auron," he responded.  He took Freddie's hand and said, "I know who you are.  Anyone who doesn't has been livin' under a rock.  What are **you** doing **here**?"

Freddie Mercury shrugged and laughed as he shook Auron's hand.  "Call it 'research,' dear.  They say 54 is the place to be, and I was bored.  I have a flat here in town and I'm with a few friends.  Care to join us?"

_Are you fuckin' kiddin' me!  Like I'm gonna say NO!_

Trying to look nonplussed Auron replied, "Sure."

The lead singer of Queen grabbed the vodka bottle and gestured at the bartender.  "Be a dear and put this on **my** bill."  Stoli in one hand, Freddie moved the other to Auron's arm and guided him toward a table next to the wall.  A plush velvet tufted booth curved in a semi circle and was occupied by two men and a woman.  Hanging on Auron's arm, the singer waved the bottle flamboyantly at his friends.  "Look at what I found!" he said in a chipper voice.  "He was attached to a lighter!  What luck!"

Laughing, the group shifted to make room for Freddie and his newfound friend.  Auron wasn't quite sure what to think.  He was suddenly feeling very much like a man that had been picked up.

"Auron meet Thor, Jim, and Jaqui."  The Stoli joined two empty brothers and several bottles of champagne on the table as Freddie slid into the booth seat.  He tapped the velvet next to him and smiled.  "Sit, sit.  Tell us **all** about yourself, dear!"  Freddie tapped on a box of cigarettes and, using Auron's lighter, lit one up.

_What the hell have I just gotten myself into?_

Shrugging, Auron took the indicated seat.  Some handshakes across the table ensued.  He took a long drink from the glass in his hand and said, "Not much to tell, Freddie.  I live in New York.  I hustle to get by.  I spend time here at 54 on occasion."

Thor looked at Auron and said, "hustle?"  It was clear the man was looking out for his buddy.

"Let's just say I am loosely attached to the recreational pharmaceutical industry," Auron responded.

Freddie's eyebrows went up a bit.  "Really?"  The voice clearly said he was intrigued.  "And is this **all** you do?"

"Keeps me busy."  Auron rubbed at his shoulder a bit.  The stitches were itching him and Seymour grinding his hand into the wound hadn't helped much.

_Masau-san will eat me alive if these stitches are torn._

"So, that little – tiff – earlier, was that business or pleasure?"  Freddie slid a bit closer to Auron and filled a glass with some vodka.  "You did **not** look amused."

Grunting, he said, "That?  Strictly business."

"Good, I'd hate to think you were taken."

_Oh shit! Now I've done it. I'm gonna have to get inventive to get out of this…_


	7. Auron gets his groove on and Jecht gets ...

Ok. Another Chapter done. Because I'm feeling that way, an extra disclaimer:  
I don't own FFX. I only twist the FFX characters into something strange for fun. I don't make money on this. I also don't have anything to do with 54, Steve Rubell, the music industry, any star mentioned in this fic, or any car, motorcycle, or weapons manufacturer.  
I think that covers all of it. Sorry if I forgot something.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Auron wasn't much for dancing.  In fact, though he came to 54 at least five nights out of the week, he'd only **danced** a handful of times.  It wasn't his thing.  Dancing was a means to get a hot chick pressed up against him long enough to bang her in the balcony, shag her in the bathroom stall, or take her home and fuck her brains out. And, though it was fun as far as it went, that kind of thing got old after a while.  Since he led a rather complicated and dangerous life, he tended to keep from forming attachments to people where he'd have to explain himself and what he really did.  It made for a lot of lonely nights filled with memories of the days before he went off to Nam and got his innocence ripped all to hell.

It was a shitload easier to drink, fuck, and party than to sit at home alone with memories.

So, when Freddie made up his mind to hit the dance floor, Auron was torn. On the one hand, it would get him out of the booth and upstairs where he could slide away to a pay phone and call Jecht.  On the other hand, he was probably going to have to do the bump and grind on the dance floor with Freddie Mercury.

_Man, I like this guy!  I just don't swing that way.  Jecht's gotta get me outa this._

Auron really did **like** Freddie.  He was a hell of a guy.  As a fan, he admired the man's talent, but in the last hour, he'd actually gotten to **know** him a little.  Mr. Mercury had a wicked sense of humor and was really quite smart.  Intrigued by Japanese culture and art, Freddie had been ecstatic to find out Auron was half Japanese and still had extended family back in Hokkaido.  Almost amazed, Auron listened as the singer talked about his adoration of lacquer boxes and wood block prints.  Freddie wasn't a stuck up, full of himself, star – he was rather self deprecating – though it was obvious that he used to getting his way and he acted more like a opera diva than anything else.  His friends were fun people and obviously adored him.  For a minute, Auron was almost sad he wasn't gay.

Fidgeting with his cigarette, Freddie sighed and said, "Dear, you have no idea how lucky you are!  Your hair!  If I had hair as straight as yours I'd never have cut mine…"  The singer reached out and twisted a lock from Auron's ponytail around a finger.  Freddie was definitely looking for more than casual conversation.  The singer's other hand had moved to rest on Auron's thigh about fifteen minutes and two drinks into the chat and never left.  It wasn't long before the open gestures, large smile, and laughs became a bit more, well, intimate.  Auron had managed, so far, to keep from getting groped but realized it wouldn't be long before a hand was going to slide somewhere and he'd be forced to turn the man down.  He really didn't want to do that.  

Flat out turning Mr. Mercury down could cause Auron problems.  For starters, it might cause a bit of offence and, since Freddie didn't live very far from Jecht and knew a lot of well-placed people who did drugs, it would be a major advantage in more ways than one to try and maintain some kind of connection with the guy.  Sure, it sounded a bit harsh, but Auron was a cop and he had a job to do.  Aside from Braska, there wasn't a person he knew, even Jecht, which he didn't have an agenda for.  Freddie wasn't going to be any different.  

Then, there was Rubell.  

Rubell wanted his stars happy.  He wanted them drunk, sexed up, drugged up, hot, sweaty, danced out, and euphoric.  If it got back to Rubell that he'd made someone like Freddie unhappy – well, it wouldn't go over well.  Auron made a lot of contacts in 54.  By being one of the three major dealers that cruised the club, he got to go anywhere in the place and met **everyone**.  It made his other _work_ damn easy.  So, pissing off Rubell and getting banned from the club was **not** on Auron's option list.

_Sometimes I fuckin hate my work._

With a smile on his face, Auron shrugged and said, "Why not," when Freddie suggested the group head upstairs to dance.  The singer, buzzing on alcohol, wrapped an arm around Auron's shoulders as they teetered their way from the dungeon and down the dark hallways.  Trying to act casual without seeming overly friendly, Auron helped the guy out as they headed up the narrow stairwell.  He made sure Freddie went first, so there was no chance for wandering hands to land on his ass.  

Bass reverberated through the club as the group cleared the stairwell and headed out into the throng.  Freddie clapped his hands together in delight as a recorded thunderclap sounded and glitter was released from the ceiling onto the dancing bodies below – simulating a rainstorm.  Strobes flashed in time with the music on columns that descended from the ceiling.  Richie Kaczor was spinning the boards and the floor was packed.  "Get Up and Boogie" by Silver Connection got blended into "Lady Marmalade" and Patti LaBelle ripped it out as Freddie, Thor, Jim, Jaqui, and Auron pushed their way into the throng.  Thor on one side and Auron on the other, Freddie got crushed between and grinned.  Everyone was having a great time.

Lucky for Auron, Mr. Mercury was having so much fun looking at the amazing diversity of people and various states of undress that he didn't spend much time focused on any one thing.  Three songs went by pretty quickly and Auron figured it was a good time to make an escape.

Leaning in to put his lips near Freddie's ear he shouted, "Hey, man.  I'm headed to the john.  Be right back."  Thor, pressed to Freddie's back in imitation of a pair of spoons, nodded in synchronization with his friend – indicating that both heard him.  Jaqui was busy being groped by a man wearing a pair of gold lame Speedos and could have cared less what Auron did.  Jim had managed to loose himself.

Auron made a line for the restrooms then switched direction and headed for the pay phone.  He looked at his watch.

_Shit.  Jecht's gonna fuckin kill me.  It's after midnight._

Picking up the receiver, Auron dropped in the change and dialed.  The phone rang a while before a clattering noise occurred.  The voice on the other end was barely coherent.

"Yeah?" Jecht grunted.

"Jecht.  I need a favor."

"Auron?  What the fuck?"  The voice lost a bit of sleep and gained some lucidity.  Auron could almost see Jecht check the clock before the next sentence came through the receiver.  "It's almost one in the goddamn morning!  Did Tidus do something?  I'm gonna kick that kid's fucking ass all the way to…"

Interrupting, Auron saved Tidus from getting beat within an inch of his life.  "Jecht, shut the fuck up and listen.  I need you to help me.  I'm in a jam.  You gotta bail me out."

"What's goin' on?"

There was no way Auron was going to explain the situation on the phone, much less his plan for dealing with it.  "Just come down to 54 and pick me up."

Jecht's response was expected.  "Take a goddamn cab!  I've got practice at nine, you SOB."

Auron rolled his eyes.  He'd expected this.  "Just fuckin' do it, Jecht."  He paused.  There was no response so he changed his tone and said the magic word.  "PLEASE.  I **really** need your help."

The exasperated sigh that came through the phone was confirmation that Auron would get his way.  "I haveta get dressed," Jecht stated.  It was followed quickly by a harsh,  "You owe me, prick."

Smiling, Auron replied, "Yeah.  Well, we'll talk about payment when you get here, asshole.  I'll be down in the dungeon."

They hung up.


	8. Jecht gets Freddie's number and makes Au...

**Author note:** Ok – one thing.  House of Pies is actually an establishment in Houston, TX.  They're open all night and a rather regular hang out for late night gab sessions and munchies.  Since I knew what I wanted for Auron and Yuna's chat, but not the name of an actual spot in NYC that fit the bill (I'm usually at a bit more classy joints and watching musicals when I'm in town) I "transported" House of Pies.  Next time I'm in NYC, I'll find and all-night spot that fits my bill and switch the name.  
Sorry for the mild inaccuracy…

~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~

An hour later, Jecht appeared.  Auron couldn't have asked for a better setup.  Jecht, hair still damp from the shower, hadn't given a fuck about how he looked and man did it work for him.  Wearing only a pair of black jeans so tight you could tell he had on no underwear, and a fringed black leather vest, the guy strode into the basement VIP lounge like he owned the place.  His bare chest was decorated by his huge team logo tattoo and the look was completed with a black Stetson hat and pair of snakeskin boots.  Auron had to keep from laughing at the appropriateness' of the attire.

_Can't lose it now…I've got a scene to start._

Sitting in the booth, Freddie, Thor, and Auron were smoking a little hash.  He hadn't planned on getting high, but that and some ludes were the best way to convince Freddie to leave the dance floor go back downstairs.  Jaqui and Jim were still upstairs somewhere doing god knows what.  

_Perfect!  Time to pull out all the stops…_

Auron put a worried look on his face and leaned to Freddie.  "Oh shit," he said.

"Something wrong, dear?"  Freddie took a drag and then extended the lit joint to Auron with a smile.  "I'm sure this will help."

Frowning, Auron did his best to ham it up.  "Not really.  See that guy headed this way?"  He pointed to Jecht, who had spotted the group and was now moving toward the table.

Freddie nodded and whistled.  "My, my!  Does the cowboy come with a bullwhip?" 

Thor snickered. 

Auron shook his head.  "Well,only if you ask.  He's a…**friend**." The tone of voice implied involvement.  "He **wasn't** supposed to be here tonight."

Mr. Mercury's eyebrows arched.  Jecht was a big man and he didn't look happy.  

Thor said, "He's not going to cause trouble, is he?"

Auron shrugged.  "Not with you.  He never gets mad at anyone but me.  I'll go head him off."  Sliding quickly from the booth he said, "Sorry!"

Meeting Jecht in a few yards away from the table, Auron got things rolling.  He put a hand out flat on Jecht's chest, as if he were stopping him.  "Hey.  Thanks, man.  I really appreciate this."

"What the fuck is the problem, Auron?"  Jecht glanced down at Auron's hand.  He was clearly irritated.

"I got in over my head."  He tilted his head toward the table and said, "You recognize the guy at the table, right?"

"That's Freddie Goddamn Mercury!"  Jecht's face started to light up.  "I gotta…"

Auron cut him off.  "Cool it!  You're here to get me **away** from him."

Jecht frowned and scratched at the back of his neck.  He said, "I don't get it."

Looking a little embarrassed, Auron said, "Well, he seems to be under the impression that I would make a nice toy to take home.  And, while I actually do like the guy, I'm not about to take it in the ass from him."  He stepped further into Jecht's body space, knowing his friend was going to go off like a top when he told him the plan.  "So, you're here to show that I am already someone else's bitch."

"WHAT!"  True to form, Jecht exploded.  His loud voice clearly carried to the table where Freddie and Thor were watching the interchange.  "ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND!"

Auron was giving himself some mental congratulations for an excellent setup.  He gestured a bit with his words to make it look like a real lover's quarrel.  "Perfect!  Get really pissed.  It's gonna make it look so real."

Jecht was turning red.  He was really mad and his hands were clenching into fists.  "YOU SON OF A BITCH!"

_Shit!  That's a bit **too** real.  I think he's gonna deck me!_

"I gotta get out of here, man.  And I can't piss off Rubell, you know that!"  Jecht had his suspicions about what Auron really did, but didn't ask questions.  Talking fast, Auron tried to get the roller ball star with the program before fists started to fly.    "This guy lives a few blocks from you for christsake!  It's not like ya wont get another chance meet him.  Just do this for me."

Glaring, Jecht finally said, "You fuckin' owe me.  You owe me so big you're gonna be payin' the rest of your unnatural sorry existence."

Breathing a sigh of relief, Auron asked, "does brew, pizza, and Panama Red at my pad next Thursday start to make up for it?"

"Panama Red?"  Jecht's eyes widened.  "Where'd you get Panama Red?"  Suddenly, he threw his hands up and continued, "Nevermind…I don't wanna know."

Auron smiled.

Defeated, Jecht asked, "Ok.  So, what now?"

Stepping to the side, Auron stuck a hand in the back pocket of Jecht's jeans and cozied up.  It was a tight fit.  Jecht got the idea and followed along, draping an arm over his friend's shoulder.  Auron said, "Just keep that scowl on your face and come with me…"

"That wont be difficult…" he growled.

----------------

Thirty minutes later, they'd made some excuses, Freddie had Jecht's phone number, and both men were leaving 54.  Jecht had Tidus by the scruff and was hauling his ass home in a cab – having found the kid snorting a line in the bathroom.  Auron had the keys to Jecht's 1948 Indian Bonneville Roadmaster Chief, and had snatched Yuna out of a dance cage to take her for coffee and a chat.  He figured he'd take her to House of Pies since it was after two in the morning, the buzz was starting to wear down, and he had major munchies.

_Not too bad a night.  I get Yuna home and I'm golden._

Yuna hadn't been very hip on the idea of going and coped an attitude.  Auron had squashed it like a bug.

"I'm not your dad and I don't play."  Auron's voice had been a low growl and it was obvious to Yuna he meant every word.  "Now, get your ass outa that outfit and into something decent.  You've got **five minutes** before I throw you over my shoulder and carry your ass out!"

Pouting, Yuna stalked to the bathroom and changed from her little skimpy white two-piece number into jeans and a t-shirt.  Emerging just under the five-minute deadline she'd said, "Fine.  I'm not going home!

Auron had snorted, grabbed her by the wrist, and drug her to the entry.  Kimahri was standing next to Jecht's tricked out bike.  Robin's egg blue with several coats of lacquer, a fringed leather seat, and studded leather saddlebags, it was perfectly restored.  The man had driven it right up on the sidewalk and just parked the thing.  Auron shook his head as he headed for the motorcycle.

_Jesus, Jecht.  You really are an arrogant prick._

"Thanks, brother," Auron said.  "I owe ya dinner at Maybell's."

The black man just nodded as Auron fired up the bike.  Yuna climbed up behind him and he revved the engine to clear the sidewalk.  "MOVE IT!" Kimahri shouted to the remaining crowd.  Auron grinned and then squealed the tires as he let the clutch out and took off.


	9. You can get almost any pie you want from...

Here we go again.  I'm too fuckin' nice.  Why do I always end up in the middle of shit?  It's not like I go lookin' for problems.  Yet, here I am - on my way to House of Pies with a seventeen-year-old at three in the goddamn morning so I can tell her how naive she is and get her to go home to daddy.

Yuna's clingin' to me like I'm a second skin.  It's not that hard to stay on the bike, honey.  Damn!  She's rubbing up against me and I'm gonna have a hard time getting off this bike without feeling a bit embarrassed.  Thank God, we're here!

"Run in and get a table.  I'll be there in a sec."

Shit!  Auron, get it together.  You're not turned on and you didn't just check out her ass.  It's just the booze and the weed.  Have something to eat, the buzz will wear off - you're good to go.

"Hey, Alice.  You guys have any strawberry pie yet?  No.  Well, hell.  Um.  Coffee – black - and a slice of...coconut cream.  Oh, and chicken fried steak with mashed potatoes and gravy.  What are you havin' Yuna?"

Yeah.  I thought she'd order that.  She loves lemons.  They've got good lemon meringue here.  

"Let's cut to the chase.  You're going home."

Oh yeah...here we go.  I'm getting my ass chewed now.  Man, she's pissed!  I'd laugh, but I think she's gonna try to walk.

"Sit your ass down – you ordered pie.  This isn't a discussion.  You're under eighteen and your going the fuck home tonight.  Period."

Now it's time to pout.  Teen-aged girls and pouting.  Jesus Christ.

You know, there's a reason I don't have kids of my own.  They're a pain in the ass.  Besides the fact that you have to do that commitment thing with some chick, there's the twenty odd years of torture while you raise the bastards.  I don't have that kinda time to waste.  I was an ungrateful SOB as a kid.  I know the score.  Now I'm the so-called adult.  While I still think my parents were fuckin' square, I do understand they were just doin the best they could and I was a stupid prick.  Some kid of mine pulled the shit I did and I'd screw their world in a permanent way.   You know the saying – I brought your ass into the world; I'll take you out.

"Look, Yuna, don't think I don't get where you're comin' from.  The situation sucks.  But your Dad…well…he's a good guy.  He really is.  He's the only truly good person I know.  You need to cut him some slack here."

Somehow, I didn't think that was gonna do the trick.

"Ok.  Let's look at this realistically.  Where the fuck are you gonna live?"

What?!  You're shittin' me.  

"Tidus said what?!"

Oh, now that's RICH.  Fuckin' RICH!  Jecht is NOT gonna go for that!  And, even if he did, that just wouldn't be smart.  Tidus would spend all his time trying to fuck her, and I'd have to kill him when finally got in her pants.  That might ruin my friendship with Jecht.  This just doesn't play.

"You are fuckin' crazy if you think that's gonna happen, Yuna!  The only reason Tidus said that is cause he wants laid.  If you think otherwise, you're more stupid than I thought!  Get your head outa your ass!"

Now we're into the realm of at least possible.  I don't think this is a good option either.  Rikku's a wild child cause Cid doesn't have time to pay attention to her.  Bright kid but, shit, the man let's a fifteen-year-old work at 54!  I know they need the cash to get by, but hell.  

"Yuna, they can hardly make the payments on that house and put food on the table.  I'm sure you think you'd be helpful but that neighborhood is fuckin' rough!  Cid's a big bastard who can take care of himself. Rikku's street-wise and knows the score.  Honestly, I'd peg you to get raped in a week.  Don't take it personally, honey, I'm just tellin' it like it is."

God, I hate when women cry.

"Thanks, Alice.  Yeah, she's cool.  Just bring some extra napkins."

I never know what to do when women get all hysterical.  It just shuts me down.  I saw so much shit in Nam I'm just dead to that kind of thing.  The only emotion that touches me now is rage.  Makes me good at my work.  Dispassionate.  However, it also makes moments like this fuckin' awkward.

"Yuna, eat the pie.  You'll feel better."

Damn, I love the food here!  I know it's not that healthy.  I know Masao-san would give me shit for eating this stuff.  But GOD I love chicken fried steak.  The only thing better to munch after a good joint is a pizza from Sal's or dim sum.  

"Why do you wanna stay here anyway?  New York is a hellhole, Yuna."

Yeah.  That's what I thought.  She's sick of the old man's lifestyle.  Well, who can blame her?  That kind of thing just ain't for everybody.  I guess it's time for Braska to realize that.  

You know, she's actually got a point here.  She wants to go to college!  That's kinda cool.  It's not just a 'I want to do what I want' thing.  She had to take some class so she could get a certificate that says she's got a High School equivalence since Braska's been carting her all over hell.  

"Really?  When are you taking the SAT?"

Ok.  Now I'm impressed.  She wants to be a doctor!  She could do it.  I mean, the kid is smart.  She speaks four languages already.

Damn.  I don't think Braska has any idea she's been doing this.  No wonder she's not home much.  And that's what she's doing with the cash.  She's sockin' it back for school.  

What we've got here is...failure to communicate.

"How about this?  I take you home, you kiss and make up with dad, and I try to get him to listen.  You can't stay with me.  You're **not** stayin' with Jecht and Tidus.  Stayin' in Harlem with Cid and Rikku is out of the fuckin' question.  I do think we can find a compromise.  You get in NYU and get a room at the dorms.  I'll tell Braska I'll be your guardian.  I think he might buy that."

I just don't get it.  Why does it make me feel so strange when she gets all happy like that?  Man, I love seeing her smile.

"Want another piece of pie?"


	10. Take your dead ass home

"Get down!"

Company B, 4th Battalion, 21st Infantry, 11th Light was ordered out on routine patrol.  Everything was calm until hill 56, about 70 miles southeast of Chu Lai.  Then the shit hit the fan.

Sniper fire erupted from a nearby field.  The group, moving through long grass, was completely exposed.  Bullets whizzed by Auron's head and he was suddenly spattered with blood.  He pressed himself flat to the ground as his squad leader screamed out orders.  

_Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!_

The radioman went down to his left – a bullet exploded out the back of the man's head like it was a ripe melon.  To Auron's right, his friend James took a bullet in the thigh and went down screaming.  It was a hairy fucking furball.  No one had expected Charlie to show up for a dance this morning.

_Son of a bitch!  _

Auron was pretty sure, when his squad leader took a bullet in the chest, that he wasn't gonna get out of this one alive.  Over half the squad was dead and the bullets were still coming.  He'd only been in Nam for two months and it was a nightmare.  He turned eighteen and got a draft notice.  He'd never even been laid.  Now his ass was pinned down under enemy fire with no radio, no commander, and shit for ammo.

_That's it.  I'm a dead man._

Suddenly, the bullets stopped.  The sounds of moaning injured men filled the vacuum of sound created by the cessation of gunfire.  

_I have to get to that radio_.

Slowly, Auron began to scrape his way to the nearly headless radioman.  Keeping as flat as possible he belly slid to his left, holding onto his M-16 and saying "Hail Mary" in his head even though he wasn't Catholic.  When he got close, the gunfire started again.

_Shit!_

Swallowing hard and squeezing his eyes shut, Auron wondered why the hell he hadn't gone with the guys to that whorehouse last week.  He was gonna die, face down in the dirt of Vietnam, without ever having come outside of a hand job.  

_I swear.  I get out of this alive and I'm not waiting for the right girl anymore._

There was a lot of other shit he wanted to do before he died.  Sure, he wanted to see the Grand Canyon, visit France, and go to college – but having a proper orgasm seemed to be so much more important that all the rest of it right now.   Fucking was a rite of passage – like smoking your first joint or getting hung over on shit beer and throwing up in your boots.

_Well, two outa three ain't bad._

The gunfire came to a halt again.  Auron lay still, trying to control his breathing and keep a cool head.  He was only a few feet from the radio now.  It didn't look damaged.  If he could make it to the radio, he could report in and get the rocket jocks up on patrol to fry the Sumbitches with napalm.  

_Light up Charlie's ass.  See how he likes it.  Mother Fucker._

After a few minutes, Auron figured it was clear – or as close to it as he was going to get.  He took a deep breath and got ready to make another move for the radio.  That's when he heard voices.

Only two things happened when Charlie decided to investigate after an attack – you took it execution style in the head, or you were a POW.  Auron didn't think either option sounded very good.  Not that he had a lot of choice.  If he could keep still, the long grass might hide him.  Charlie might overlook him.

That's when the radio rang.

_What the fuck?  There's no incoming on that thing!_

Auron started to panic.  This wasn't supposed to happen.  It didn't make sense.  The radio wasn't made to ring.  However, that was beside the point right now.  It was ringing and about to give away his position.  He jerked a hand down, pulled out his M1911-A1 sidearm, and aimed for the radio.  

_I do this and it's over.  No backup.  Nothin'._

He pulled the trigger.

-----------------

The tiny wind-up travel alarm clock went sailing across the room when Auron's hand shot out and connected with the molded plastic exterior.  It connected soundly with the far wall of the bedroom and shattered into small pieces of glass, metal and abused plastic.  This, however, did not stop the ringing sound that had jolted Auron awake.

_Damn.  Another alarm clock busted._

Groping to the right a bit, Auron fumbled with the phone receiver.  Dragging it under the covers to his face he growled, "What!"

"Fuck you too."  Jecht sounded amused.  "It's after twelve.  Get you're ass up.  No amount of sleep will ever make you look good."

Auron mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like "SOB."

"I heard that."

"I don't care."

Jecht laughed.  "Am I comin' over tonight?"  

"Yeah."  Auron popped his neck and stretched.  "I gotta do some housekeeping first.  How's seven?"

"Sure."

"You gonna walk or ride the bike?"

The incredulous tone of Jecht's voice made it clear that the question was stupid.  "Ride."

"Can you stop by Sal's and pick up the pizza?"  Auron reached a hand out an pulled the covers off his head.  "It'll be on my tab.  Ya won't have to pay."  

"What am I, a goddamn delivery boy?"  Jecht sounded annoyed.

"Fine."  Auron's tone was flippant. "I'll just drink the import beer and smoke the joints by myself, dick."  

"Ok," Jecht sighed.  "I'll pick up the pizza."

"Thanks."  The reply was suspiciously like a grunt.

"No prob, Sleeping Beauty," teased Jecht.  "Catcha later."

"Ja."

--------------------

Auron felt like shit.  At least once a week he had a nightmare about Nam.  If it wasn't the firefight that got his ass put in a POW camp, or the torture that followed, it was visions of the final days he spent in Saigon during his reup.  Getting Braska and Yuna the hell out of there had been a nightmare all its own.  The dreams left him feeling pissed off, frustrated, and generally out of control.  And when Auron felt out of control, only one thing put his world to rights – cleaning his weapons.

Sliding out of bed, Auron ran his hands through his long hair and headed for the kitchen.  Coffee was the first order of business.  

Once the Maxwell House was brewing, he moved to the stereo and flicked the power.  Auron only spent serious money on two things besides drugs – weapons and music.  Though he could use just about any type of weapon with deadly accuracy, when it came to music Auron was less than proficient.  In other words, short of air guitar, the man was inept – tone deaf and couldn't carry a tune in a bucket.

This fact didn't stop Auron from enjoying the hell out of singing with his albums at the top of his lungs.  If someone didn't like his voice, they could kiss his ass.  Turning the volume on the Pioneer main up over the halfway mark, he flipped through a bin holding his treasured LPs.  Frowning in concentration, he finally found what he was looking for.

_Oh Yeah!  Mr. Clinton, drop da bomb!_

Auron had eclectic taste in tunes.  His library included everything from Charles Mingus to Led Zeppelin, and the Stones to Peter Paul and Mary.  Kimahri had turned him on to Parliament Funkadelic recently and he was absolutely in love.  Tales of Kidd Funkadelic and Hardcore Jollies" were in heavy rotation.  This morning, Auron felt a need to get his funk on.  "Tales" was placed on the Technics turntable and he headed for the bathroom to take a shower.

Bass started to thrum in the small two-room efficiency.  Auron bounced with the beat as he moved through the apartment.  Turning on the shower, he whipped off his BVDs and brushed his teeth while the water got hot.  As soon as steam started to rise from the stall, Auron hopped in.

It wasn't long before he was humming along with the music.  The song "Butt to Butt Resuscitation" gave way to "Let's Take It To The People" while Auron washed his hair and applied cream rinse.  His attitude was beginning to improve.  He sang along with the chorus to "Undisco Kidd" as he ran a bar of Ivory soap over his body.

**"Move, your sexy body.  
Baby let me see you move it all across the floor.  
Move, your sexy body.  
Every time you wiggle you hear the men holler for more."**

By the end of the song, his shower was finished.  He hopped out of the enclosure and ran a towel over his body as the next song started.  It was his favorite.  He darted, naked, into the front room and cranked the sound.  The walls started to shake.

**"Yeah, they call me the kid,   
Sexy man,  
But I know nothing about the great big H…"**

Auron was singing at the top of his lungs while he poured himself a cup of java.  His next-door neighbor was banging on the wall and shouting for him to shut the fuck up and Auron couldn't hear a damn thing.  Even if he had, he wouldn't have cared.

** "If you ain't gonna get it on,   
Take your dead ass home! (Now light my fire, baby!)  
If you ain't gonna get it on  
Take your dead ass home (a-flick-a my Bic, even!)…"**

Shakin' his 'thang, Auron took a sip of his coffee and then left it on the counter.  The people in the building across the street got a fantastic show as the man got down with his bad self in his living room.  Auron had never bothered to get curtains for the huge windows that covered the far wall of his apartment.  He just didn't care.

**"There once was a man from Peru   
Who went to sleep in his canoe   
He was dreaming of Venus   
And took out his penis   
And woke up with a handful of goo …"**

Wet hair flicking around his head, Auron danced his way to the coat closet.  He'd done a bit of 'modification' to the place after moving in.  Pushing on a panel on the left sidewall of the storage area, a small passage revealed itself.  Turning sideways, and still singing, Auron slid into the opening and flicked a switch.

**"Well, flick-a my Bic, baby!   
If you ain't gonna get it on   
Take your dead ass home …" **

Auron smiled as he sang the chorus.  He was feeling much better now.  Turning a dial on a rather large gun safe, he entered the combination and unlocked his armory.

**"Well, light my fire baby, flick-a my Bic   
I'll cum if you call …"**

The arsenal was pretty impressive for a personal cache.  The M-16 he'd had when he left Nam for the second time was housed next to a Marine issue M40A1 sniper rifle with a redfield 3-9x accurange mounted scope.  He slung each weapon over a shoulder and reached in to pick up a pair of  M1911-A1 .9mm hand guns.  He left the two Remington shotguns – a police model 870 and a Wingmaster – and his cleaning kit along with a Colt .45, an array of switchblades, and a remarkable amount of ammo on the shelves.  He moved back to the living room, singing as he went, to place the weapons on a folding card table.

**"There once was some freaks from L.A. (and what'd they do?)   
Who came to New York to play (yeah?)   
They was busted by the pussy posse (pussy who?)   
And the prosecutor popped them in the pen …"**

First load deposited, Auron danced back into the closet to retrieve the cleaning kit and the two shotguns.  He hadn't shot the .45 recently and sharpened the knives last week so he shut the safe and boogied his way back out to the card table.

**"Get off your ass and jam!   
Oh they call me the kid   
Let's get it on, y'all …"**

The song was nearing an end.  Parliament Funkadelic had done its job and Auron's spirits were much improved.  He went into the bedroom, put on a pair of black cotton drawstring pants, and came back out.  After closing up the entry to his stash and shoving the coats up against the wall, he went to thumb through the LPs while the tune wound down.  It was time to take it down a notch.  

**"It's only rock n' roll.   
If you ain't gonna get it on   
Take your dead ass home   
If you ain't gonna get it on   
Take your dead ass home …"**

After some consideration, Auron plucked a Pink Floyd album from the bin.  Nothing too downer, but something much more mellow.  He had meticulous work to do now and it wouldn't do to rush it.

**"(turn the drums up a little for me...yeah!)   
(We're gonna do it one more time, and I want everybody)   
(Y'all ready?)   
(Are you ready? I'm ready?)   
(Hit it!) …"**

Normally he listened to Beethoven's 3rd Symphony in E-flat Major, "Eroica" when cleaning his guns, but he just wasn't in the mood for classical.  He'd be getting high later - might as well start getting in the frame of mind for it and the Doors just didn't sound all that appealing at the moment.

**"If you ain't gonna get it on   
Take your dead ass home   
(come here, ladies. Move in close!)"**

The song was over.  Auron picked the tracker needle up off the LP and swapped out Funkadelic for Wish You Were Here.  The ethereal strains of "Shine on You Crazy Diamond" began to fill the apartment.  Auron could now hear his neighbor banging on the wall and shouting, "Turn that shit down or I'm calling the cops!"  He grinned, turned down the volume and went to the wall.  He banged back and shouted, "OK! It's down!"

Auron went to the counter, picked up his coffee, and pulled a chair to the card table.  Seating himself, he took a long drink of java and decided to start with the riffle.  He opened the cleaning kit and took out some cotton patches, Tetra Gun spray, Brichwood Casey Gun Scrubber, an acid paint brush, a bronze wire brush, a nylon brush, a brass cleaning rod and jag, and Shooters Choice bore cleaner.  Arranging the products in a row down the right side of the table for easy access, he picked up the M40A1 and got down to business.

With swift practiced motions, Auron took out the bolt, stuck a pad on the end of the brass-cleaning rod and prepped it.  Running the rod through the bore of the gun, he wiped it with every pass.  Once he was satisfied, he used the brass jag to push clean cotton patches through the bore until they came out spotless.  He picked up the pressurized scrubber solvent and gave a hit to the action.  The repetitive nature of the work was almost comforting.

**"Remember when you were young,  
You shone like the sun.  
Sine on you crazy diamond …"**

He went back over the rifle with trained eyes, inspecting to ensure he'd missed nothing.  A light coat of the Tetra Gun spray was next.  He meticulously removed the excess and then took up the paintbrush.  A thin film of oil was then carefully painted onto all the working surfaces.  Auron didn't rush himself.  A working weapon meant life and death.  He wasn't about to have his ass handed to him because of personal error.

**"Welcome my son, welcome to the machine.  
Where have you been?  
It's all right, we know where you've been …"**

M40A1 done, he moved to the M-16.  It was really a shit weapon in a lot of ways, but he was attached to it for more reasons than he could count.  It really was a filthy piece of machinery.  The only thing worse was an AR15.  The things shuttled debris from the bore directly into the bolt carrier!  Every time you fired an M-16, you had to strip clean the thing.  It was a pain in the ass.  The M40A1 was a superior weapon – yet he held onto his M-16 and fired the thing at least every other week.  

**"Welcome my son, welcome to the machine.  
What did you dream?  
It's all right we told you what to dream …"**

Auron could completely disassemble and clean the M-16 in ten minutes in almost total darkness.  He'd done it that much since the age of eighteen.  Every time he cleaned it, he wondered how his life might have been different if he'd dodged the draft.  But then, he wouldn't have met Braska and it was honestly stupid to play the 'might-have-been' game.  If he'd been white and born with the last name Kennedy he might have been fucking president too, but it didn't do shit for you to sit and wonder.

The M-16 was done.

**"And did we tell you the name of the game, boy,  
We call it Riding the Gravy Train …"**

He moved to the Wingmaster pump action.  Auron really liked his Wingmaster.  It was one of the only guns he had purchased himself.  The M-16 was army issue.  The USMC didn't let the M40A1 off of Quantico in the hands of anyone other than a Marine without some heavy-duty authorization.  The M1911-A1 .9mm handguns were also standard issue and came with his job.  He'd obtained the 870 police model Remington shotgun from his handler when he'd moved to New York from San Francisco.  Only the Colt and the Wingmaster were all his.  If he ever gave up his line of work, they would be the only two guns in his safe that the US Government wouldn't attempt to recall.  

**"And did they get you to trade  
Your heroes for ghosts?  
Hot ashes for trees?  
Hot air for the cool breeze?  
Cold comfort for change?  
And did you exchange  
A walk on part in the war  
For a lead role in a cage? …"**

"They sure fucking did, Roger."

Once again, disassembly and strip commenced.  Cleaning was swiftly completed, followed by oiling, and the Wingmaster moved to the growing pile of weapons on his left that were now ready for action.  The 870 police model joined the stack not long after and the last song of the album played out.

**"Nobody knows where you are  
How near or how far.  
Shine on you crazy diamond …"**

The turntable automatically moved the tracker head upward and back to the start of the album.  Only the .9mm handguns were left.  Auron was going to pay special attention to these.  They had seen quite a bit of action recently, thanks to that fucker Seymour.  A grim smile came to Auron's face when he thought about his last encounter with the drug dealer.  That score needed to be settled - and soon.  Taking the last two guns apart into their respective parts, Auron pondered how he was going to manage to use these two weapons to kill the blue haired little bastard.  

His shoulder wound was essentially healed.  It wasn't one hundred percent, and it still itched sometimes, but he tried to see it as a valuable lesson.  He couldn't allow himself to be distracted.  Not trusting your instincts got you killed.  And, Auron's instincts told him that something big was on the horizon.  He wasn't interested in finding himself on the wrong side of a gun.

Auron got up and got a new cup of coffee.  Sipping, he opened the fridge in search of something resembling breakfast and came up a bit lacking.  Beer, more beer, something growing mold in a plastic container, milk that had gone sour, and something he thought might have been cheese at some point all stared back at him from the white interior.  

_That's just not gonna cut it._

He opened a cabinet.  Ramen, moldy bread, and some Kraft Macaroni and Cheese were the available options.  Since the milk was history and there was no butter, ramen was it.  It didn't sound very good.  

Sighing, he topped of the coffee cup and went back to the table and its two handguns in pieces.  Auron stood over the table and stared at the parts, considering options.  Finally, he scratched his head and sat down.  He swiftly reassembled the two weapons and left them, with the cleaning supplies, out on the table.  

The stack of guns to his left were taken to the closet and stowed in the safe as the Floyd album played.  Pulling a denim jacket off a hanger, he tossed it over the guns on the table and then went into his bedroom and grabbed a T-shirt.

**"How I wish, how I wish you were here.  
We're just two lost souls  
Swimming in a fish bowl,   
Year after year…"**

Five minutes later, Auron was out the door and on the way to SoHo.  He left the music on.

~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~ 

**Author note:** So I'm back! Did ya miss me?   
^_^   
It's a long chapter for this fic and kind of a roller coaster. I also couldn't have managed it without a lot of help from Mignonne and several very detailed websites regarding the cleaning procedures for the various weapons listed here. Thanks to both of them.  
Amberlee


	11. Pizza, Pot, and Porn don't mix

Jecht's a bit different.  Sometimes, I think I got him all figured out.  Other days, he says or does something and I wonder who the hell I'm talking to.  

"Pass me an Asahi."

I've known him about a year.  We met by accident three days after I showed up in New York.  I was learning my way around and stopped at a liquor store to pick up some bourbon when Jecht pulled up on that bike.  It's a sweet fucking bike.  I told him so.  Twenty minutes later, I was on the back of it headed to his apartment uptown while we talked about motorcycles.  After a fifth, we were best buddies and I crashed out on his leather couch for the night.  I don't think we've gone more than a week without hangin' out.

"Thanks.  Want some more pizza?"

The night his wife came home and announced she was leaving was a bit harsh.  Didn't even care there was company over.  She took off with the therapist and left Jecht to deal with Tidus.  Not the best of moves. I don't know if they ever bothered with a divorce.  Jecht's too lazy and self-absorbed to get his ass a lawyer and I don't think the cunt really cares.  What a fucking pair.

It's no wonder Tidus is such a screw up.  Of course, that's easy for me to say.  I never got married to a slut and I don't have rug rats.  

"Mezcal me."

Sometimes I think Jecht just hangs with me to go slummin'.  

He got here about an hour ago with the pizzas.  I must say that Sal really knows his shit.  It tastes incredible.  We scarfed half the first one in about twenty minutes while Jecht bitched about the refs that called his last game.  According to him, it's never his fuckin' fault they lose.  Right.  

"Fuckin' A."

After he got done whining, we lit up on the couch, put our feet up on the coffee table, and did some serious smokin'.  Between the Mary Jane and the imports, we're feeling pretty good now.

So how do I do this?  I mean, seems kinda hypocritical of me to point fingers at Tidus when I'm currently high and handing his dad a joint.  However, I don't do that much coke.  I push it, but I only snort a line about once every other month.  I feel I need to test the shit I give my customers.  Call it quality control.  At the rate that boy is goin' he's gonna be face down in an alley pretty soon.  I can bet good money he's tried smack.  That shit's just no good.  I get it on request for a few people, and keep ties to dealers who carry it, but I try to stay out of that.  I can't blow my cover by refusing to sell it and the fuckers that make that opiates, LSD, and get young people hooked on heroine are the ones I want behind bars.  

Don't get me wrong here.  I think getting high is beneficial.  I couldn't have survived the shit I did in Nam, much less lived with the aftermath, if I hadn't been able to take a hit or two.  But, I also think that man-made stuff tends to have a few too many side effects.  I like to stick to 'shrooms and marijuana myself.  God put them on this planet for a reason.  I'm just takin' advantage of nature.

"Jecht, we gotta talk."

I'm getting the look.  I think he knows what I'm gonna say.

"Tidus is gettin' to be a real prob.  The guy he's running with is bad news and I think the kid is about to ante up.  You gotta do something."

Here we go.  Time to get on the "what the hell can I do about it" train.  I know the guy has tried everything he can think of short of booting the kid out, sending him to therapy, or lettin' him get thrown in the slammer.  Honestly, given the way his wife left, I can't blame him for thinking shrinks suck.  However, we're not talking about him and his fucking problems.  We're talking about Tidus.  

"Dude, calm down.  Take a drag.  I know you're tryin'.  I'm just saying that I think it's time to get someone else in the picture."

Time for the tirade.  You know, it wouldn't be so damn bad if that bitch of a wife hadn't spent all her time making Tidus hate Jecht.  She turns the kid against his dad and then up and leaves the kid here.  What a piece a work.  I swear, if the whore hadn't taken off to live in Paris I might feel the need to do a bit of payback.

Well, at least the joint is doing its job.  He's too damn mellow to stay pissed.  However, now he's getting all emotional on me.  Hmm.

"Just give it a try.  What can it hurt?  Send the kid to Betty Ford and see how it goes.  Or Scripps.  Or somewhere for Christssake.  It can't make the situation any worse than it is."

Hell. I wasn't expecting this reaction.  He's crying!  What do I do?

"Jecht, it's ok.  Really."

I'm not very good at this comfort thing.  Crap.  Uh.  Hug him I guess.

"You aren't a failure.  The cunt fucked with his head.  You can't do much about that."

This is kinda strange.  I really didn't expect this at all.  

"I'm just tryin' to look out for you.  Anybody would do that for a friend.  It's not a big deal."

I wasn't going for some declaration of undying devotion here.  I just wanna keep Tidus away from that little prick Seymour.  The kid is just taking up too much of my time and I need to focus on the matter at hand – how I can slit the blue haired punk ass pimp's pretty little throat and get away with it.

"Uh, yeah, I love you too, man."

I gotta change the subject.  This is starting to weird me out.

"So, what's in the box?"

Wow.   I haven't seen many video recorders outside of professional equipment.  The government uses quite a lot of video for surveillance.  NYC and San Fran are big enough to afford the stuff too.  

"What brand is it?"

Philips.  Pretty nice.  Had to cost a mint.

"You brought what?"

Oh my god!  I'm gonna split my sides!  This is great!  I can't believe I've known Jecht this long and didn't know he collected porn videos!  Not only that, but he's into Asian girls.  Sweet.  I've got to get him together with Masao-san.

"No! Don't put it on the record bin!  The heat will screw my LPs!  Let me do it."

So, this wire goes here.  And this plug can go here.  Um.  If I move this set of leads then I can run the sound through my speakers.  Damn.  I'm too stoned to do this.  I hope I don't blow a fuse or something.  

"What titles do you have?"

Now I know where Tidus learned to do a blowjob.  He's been sneakin' peeks at daddy's video collection.  Damn sight better than the playboy I managed to steal from my dad when I was fourteen.

Lucky bastard.

"Any thing named "Ooru naito rongu" has gotta be hot.  Put that one in."

Wow.  I'm tellin' ya.  Ya just never know what Jecht's gonna do.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

**Notes:**  
**Mezcal** is a cousin to Tequila. It is an Agave distillate and true Mezcal is "100% blue." Bottles of "Mezcal con gusano" are "with Agave worm." These are bottled about 4-6 weeks after distillation and take their straw yellow color from the Agave worm which is placed inside the bottle. When you drink this kind of Mezcal, you normally pass the bottle back and forth and see "who eats the worm."   
**Asahi** is a light crisp beer produced in Japan.  
**"Ooru naito rongu"** is Japanese for "All night long." This is an actual series of porno flicks but they weren't made until the 90s. Sue me. I liked the titles. And no, I haven't watched them you sick person...  
^_^ 


	12. Don't let the door hit you in the ass, I...

Auron felt like he'd been hit by a freight train.  His entire body ached, his head felt like it was going to explode, and he was pretty sure some form of mold was growing in his mouth.  To top it off, he was freezing.

_Why don't I have covers?_

Lying on his side in bed, naked as a jaybird, Auron was a bit perplexed.  Most of last night was rather fuzzy after the Mezcal got opened.  He didn't remember loosing his clothes or getting in bed.  He sure didn't remember opening a window.

_What the hell?  This is the worst fucking hangover I've ever had._

A hand reached back to grope for the blanket and instantaneously stopped.  There was a large warm lump under the blanket.  It was breathing.  Auron's eyes opened from narrow sleep filled slits to the wide open of fully awake.

_No way._

Carefully withdrawing his hand, Auron turned his head to look at the other side of the bed.  Jecht was lying there hogging all the bedcovers with his head half shoved under a pillow.  Auron started to get a few more memories of last night and cringed.

_Oh hell._

Auron put his hands to his aching head and rubbed his face.  To say that the situation was awkward was more than an understatement.  What little he could remember through the haze of alcohol and drugs made the logical leap pretty easy.

_This is NOT good_.

It didn't take long for Auron to make a plan of action.  He'd just deal with this the way he did every other lay he'd ever had – tell them to get out, he had shit to do, and he'd call them later.  

I'd better shower first.  This IS Jecht after all.  If I'm not ready to go, he'll know I'm lying.

Moving carefully, Auron started to slide out of bed.  Unfortunately, he wasn't fast enough.  Jecht rolled over in his sleep, tossed an arm over him, and pulled him flush.

_Fuck!_

There was no good way to get out of this situation.  Auron decided to just put his cards on the table.  He elbowed Jecht to wake him up.  "Hey!  Wanna let go of the merchandise?"

Jecht grunted and mumbled something incoherent before actually opening his eyes.  When he did, they snapped open in a startled expression and his arm jerked away from Auron's body like he'd touched a hot pan.  "Shit.  Sorry dude."

Eyes narrowing, Auron took a good look at Jecht and tried to gague the situation.  He couldn't tell how much the man remembered and he sure wasn't going to ask.  It took about ten seconds for him to make a decision.  "Absolutly nothing happened here.  We fell asleep."

Jecht's response was immediate.  "Right."

"And we're never gonna talk about this.  EVER."

"Hell no."

Auron wasn't sure if he was thrilled by this turn of events or a bit insulted.  Either way, he didn't have to worry about any complications so he no longer gave a shit.  He slid out of bed and headed for the bathroom.  "Don't let the door hit you in the ass, Jecht.  I got somewhere to be."

--------------

An hour later, Auron was dressed and Jecht was out of the apartment.  Finding some clothes that felt comfortable was a bit of a challenge.  He'd started to pull on a pair of jeans and quickly realized he was far too sore and bruised.  He finally settled on a pair of loose black cotton drawstrings that went with his gi.  He put a T-shirt on, grabbed the denim jacket off the floor where it had been discarded last night, and headed out the door.

He'd lied.  He didn't have an appointment but that didn't mean he didn't have a destination.  After last night, he really needed to talk to Braska.  He schlepped over to SoHo.

Walking was strange, but he figured it was better than sitting in a cab.  The longer he was awake, the more he remembered from last night and the more confused he got.  Trying to push it out of his mind wasn't working too well, but an afternoon at Braska's should take care of that.

"Hi."  Braska opened the door to the small apartment he shared with Yuna.  Auron shuffled in.  "Two unannounced visits in two days.  I'm going to start thinking something is wrong, Auron."

The man was joking, but the comment still elicited a bit of a frown.  Trying not to look concerned, Braska shut the door behind Auron and headed toward the kitchen.  He'd been in the ministry long enough to know when someone needed a bit of food and coaxing to talk.  "I was just about to have a sandwich.  Want something?"

Auron tossed himself down on the couch and lay back until he found a position he could live with.  "Yeah.  That would be cool."

About ten minutes later both men were eating ham sandwiches and chips.  Washing it down with soda, they didn't say much.  Finally, Braska tried the oblique approach.  "I really have to thank you for getting Yuna to come home.  I can't believe I didn't know what she's been doing.  I feel so stupid."

Shrugging, Auron took a swig of soda and said, "It's no big deal.  Kids rebel.  Of course, you probably didn't – but the rest of us normal people tend to start sneaking around and lying around fourteen or so.  You're lucky it took her this long.  Consider it a testament to your parenting skills."  He grinned at Braska and put the soda can on the coffee table.

Braska sighed.  "Well, I don't feel like much of a good parent.  I guess I just don't understand the way things work.  She's my little girl."

Auron nodded.  "Yeah.  I know."

"I got my tickets today.  I leave in a week."  Braska clasped his hands together.  "You're sure that it's not too much for you to watch out for her?"

"No sweat.  You've done a great job with her.  Aside from checking in with her, and making sure nobody's giving her crap, she'll take care of herself."

It seemed clear Auron wasn't going to say what was bothering him.  Braska finally went for the direct approach.  "And how about you?  Who will be watching your back?"

"I'll be fine."  Auron flashed a smile and made a wide-open gesture with his arms.  "You know me, always land on my feet."

Braska frowned.  He moved from the chair over to the couch and sat on the armrest near Auron's head.  "You don't need to play with me.  What's up?"

Auron sighed heavily.  "I wish you weren't leaving.  I'm gettin' used to you being around."

Nodding, Braska put a hand on Auron's shoulder.  "I know."

-------------

Tidus unlocked the door to the apartment.  It was dark and he flicked the switch to the entry light on before heading for the kitchen.

"Son, come in here."  Jecht's voice didn't seem real friendly and Tidus cringed.  When his dad used that tone, it usually meant a shouting match swiftly followed by a beating.

Stepping lightly into the opulent living room, he could see his dad sitting in the chair near the sofa.  He decided distance was a good thing and took a seat at the far end of the couch so Jecht would have to get over the glass coffee table and the tiger skin rug to punch him.  "Sup dad?"

"Well."  Jecht moved around a bit nervously.  "Uh.  We gotta talk."

A few moments of silence followed and finally Tidus said, "What about?"

Jecht shifted in the chair and finally said, "Well.  It's like this."  He stopped, scratched at his neck, and then started again. "Ok.  So, I want you to meet someone.  James!"

Tidus had no idea what this was all about but he wasn't feeling very good about it.  A blond man dressed in pressed tan pants, a light blue oxford cloth shirt, and a cream sweater tied around his neck stepped out of the shadows and approached.  

"Hi there."  The man extended a hand to Tidus.  "I'm James Oxendine."

Narrowing his eyes a bit, Tidus shook hands.  He looked at his dad in question.  Jecht said, "James is with Spencer Recovery."

The boy didn't get it.  "Nice to meet ya."

James took a seat next to Tidus and started his spiel.  "Your father called me because he loves you and is worried about you.  He feels your recent behavior is a bit self-destructive.  He wants to help you regain a sense of purpose and meaning to your life."  The smooth even voice continued.  "I am here to facilitate that change."

Tidus started to snicker and stand up.  "Dad, this is damn funny!  Where'd you find this guy?"

"Shut up and sit your ass down."  Jecht barked out the command and a finger thrust forward to emphasize his intent to ensure that Tidus didn't go anywhere.

"I think what your father is trying to say is that he'd like you to keep an open mind while we discuss your future plans."

"You've got to be shitting me!"  Tidus' incredulous expression said it all.  He wasn't interested in listening to any more.

"Our facility in Florida is a residential treatment center.  We specialize in assisting young people like yourself in the difficult process of cleansing the body of addictive chemicals."  James smiled pleasantly and put a hand on Tidus' shoulder.  "However, it is important that you admit you have a problem and commit to making a lifestyle change.  Tidus, your father and I would like to hear you say that you want to work toward a healthier tomorrow.  Can you do that for us?"

"Fuck off!"  Tidus pushed James' hand off his shoulder and got up.  "I'm outa here.  I have a date."

"You take one step toward that door and you'll wish you'd never been born."  Jecht's voice was a low growl.  "I am sick of your shit.  You are a complete fuck up.  I don't know how it all came to this but your ass is on a plane with James in a hour.  You're going to rehab."

"I think what your father is trying to say is that you don't seem to be making good decisions right now.  He's concerned that the drugs and alcohol are making your decisions for you.  It is his hope that you will come with me to Spencer Recover Center so you can rid yourself of your addictions."

Jecht's eyes narrowed as he looked at James.  His eyes darted back to Tidus.

The boy got in James' face and shouted, "why don't you take your preppy beachcomber ass back to wherever the fuck you came from and leave me alone!"

That was it.  Jecht was done.  He called around and was told that Spencer Treatment facility had the best percentage rate of recovery.  After a quick long distance chat with someone, he made reservations for the kid and James had shown up to escort Tidus to the plane and down to the facility.  He'd thought the guy was a bit of a stiff, but that was ok.  Jecht wasn't having the guy live with him – he was just gonna take the kid off his hands for a few months and try to get him sorted out.  Now the fucker was putting words in his mouth and acting like Tidus had some kind of choice about the situation.

"Tidus, I told you to sit your ass down!  You're getting on the fucking plane with James or you go into the goddamn army!  I'm not dealing with your shit anymore so pack your bag."

"I think what your father is trying to say is that he wants you to be receptive…"

"And you can shut the hell up too!"  Jecht was pissed.  He went over to the couch and looked down James.  He pointed a finger in his face.  "I know what I'm trying to say.  And what I'm trying to say is that he's a worthless piece of shit drug addict who needs to go dry himself out and that I'm not gonna put up with it anymore."   

Turning abruptly, Jecht picked Tidus up by the back of his shirt.  The boy's feet dangled in the air as his father strode down the hallway toward Tidus' room.  "And I better not find any drugs in your drawers while we pack your suitcase!"

James just sat there and gaped.


	13. Chasing tail

"What the hell is your problem?"

A balding head attached to a beer gut was thrust in Jecht's face.  The man was a little pissed off as he had been awakened at 3am by the pounding of Jecht's fist on the door of Auron's apartment.  The subsequent shouts managed to wake just about everybody else on the fourth floor of the five-floor walk-up.  Jecht proceeded to ignore the neighbor and went back to pounding on the door and yelling at the top of his lungs.

"Auron, open the goddamn door!  I know you're in there you son of a bitch!"

The man shifted uncomfortably and tried to seem forceful. "You got one minute, mister, before I phone the NYPD."  

"Fuck off, numbnuts."

Auron, shirtless and zipping his fly, was clearly not happy when he jerked open the door.  "Jecht, you're drunk.  Go home."

"I ain't goin' nowhere until we talk.  Now let me in."

"I'm busy."

"And I don't give a fuck!"

"Well, I don't give a fuck either," interjected the neighbor.  "Just take it out of the hallway and stop shaking my wall!  People are tryin' to sleep!"

Auron glared at Jecht.  "Fine."  

Jecht barged his way past and into the living area without a word.   He went right to the fridge, jerked open the door, and looked inside.  

"Unless you want spoiled milk, you're outa luck."  Auron slammed the door of the apartment shut.  He leaned back against the closet door and nonchalantly put a hand behind his back on the door handle just in case.  It had been almost a month since Jecht's overnight stay and Auron had been doing his best to avoid him.  For that matter, he'd been doing his best to avoid just about everyone except Yuna.  His handler was pissed off, his suppliers were irritated, and even his clients were getting a bit demanding.  All of his time was devoted to checking up on Yuna or tailing Seymour.

Jecht frowned and shut the refrigerator door.  "I suppose a bottle of Jack is too much to hope for."

Auron simply shifted his weight to one leg and glared.

"What's your problem?"  Jecht crossed his arms over his chest, covering the team logo on his t-shirt.

"Excuse me?  I'm not the one that almost busted down a door, woke up half an apartment building, and had someone threaten to call the cops.  The way I see it, you're the one with a problem.  You ever hear of a phone?"

"Yeah, I heard of a phone.  I used it."  Jecht took a few angry steps closer to Auron.  "You didn't answer it."

"Then I guess I musta been busy, huh."

"For over a month!"

"Yeah."  Auron tensed slightly and shifted his weight again, this time toward the balls of his feet.  He let go of the door and let his arms hang loose and ready at his sides.

"You are so full of shit!"  

Auron's eyes narrowed and his voice went low.  "Jecht, you don't want to do this."

"The hell I don't! What happened to us, man?  We used to be beautiful."

"Jecht.  I mean it."  

"Fine.   Fuck you then."

For a time both men simply stood there staring at each other.  It turned into an unspoken contest after a few seconds, each one waiting to see who was going to give ground and speak first.  Finally, Jecht realized he wasn't going to win this fight either and gave up.

"Tidus gets back in a week.  I shipped him off to a treatment center in Florida and he's supposed to be clean now.  His councilor says he's gotta be supervised for a few weeks till he gets in a routine but I gotta leave Monday.  The team's got matches in Houston, SanDiego, LA, and Chicago."  

"So."

"Goddamn it Auron!  I need somebody to pick him up at the airport and watch him while I'm gone."

"What do I look like, a babysitter?"

Jecht's voice was filled with frustration.  "He knows you!  He listens to you!"

Auron just stood there.  

"Just do this for me.  You **owe** me."

"I don't **owe** you shit!"  Pissed off, Auron launched himself off the wall and got in Jecht's face.  "You got as good as you gave my friend.  And if you think there's more to it than that, you shoulda gone south with your son!"

"I can't believe you just said that."  Jecht looked like Auron had kicked him in the gut.  He tossed the keys to his place on the counter next to the fridge.  "Tidus' flight info is on the desk in my study.  I cleaned out the booze tonight."

"I didn't say I'd do it."

"Well, if you don't then nobody will."

Jecht shoved Auron aside and yanked open the front door.  He turned around just before he slammed it shut behind him and said, "After this, I don't know you anymore."

-----------------

Auron sat at the card table with a lit Marlboro hanging between his lips and a coffee cup in his hand.  He stared at the black liquid in the cup.  It was cold.

Periodically, his gaze shifted from the cup to a set of keys that lay next to his Zippo.   Jecht had left them four days ago and he still didn't know if he was going to use them.

To say that Auron was royally pissed off would have been an understatement.  It was also a bit deceiving.  He wasn't sure what pissed him off more – the fact that Jecht had all but bashed down his door, the fact the guy took it for granted that Auron would just take care of his fucking brat, or the fact that Jecht had left the way he did.

He'd thought about it a lot in four days.  Every time he walked into the kitchen and saw those keys, he got an incredible urge to hit something.  Mostly he got an incredible urge to beat the shit out of Jecht.  The urge was promptly followed by a pounding headache and a strong desire to drink himself blind.

The only other thing that filled his mind when he looked at the keys was Braska.  He'd never missed anyone so much in his entire life.  When everything seemed out of control – to be unraveling at the seams – Braska had always been there to patch him back up and tell him it would all be ok.  But Braska was gone.  He'd left a month ago on a plane to Africa.  No phone number to call.  No way to send a letter.  And, even if he could write, what would he say?  

_I'm getting to old for this shit.  I'm tired and I don't wanna be alone anymore._

It had been four days since Jecht walked out of his apartment, and likely out of his life.  It made Auron feel like dying.  The knowledge of that hit just a little too close to home.

Auron went off to shower.

----------------

Dressed to blend into the scenery, Auron continued to tail Seymour when the man left Chinatown.  Dark glasses, a hat, pressed gabardine slacks, a trench coat, and a briefcase were the disguise of the day.  Auron looked every bit the businessman that had stopped out for a quick lunch and was headed back to the office.  When Seymour left the small shop on Elizabeth and hopped in a waiting car, he exited the noodle shop across the street, hailed a cab and uttered a rather cliché, "follow that car, " to the driver.

For several weeks, Auron had been following the pimp and it was starting to pay off.  Seymour had habits.  He had vices.  He had appointments and regular hangouts.  He did meetings with his Janes at specific times on specific days, slipped drugs to his boys and clients only in particular locations, and always got his shoes shined by the same guy at the Pierre Hotel off 61st after having high tea on Thursdays.  

Auron found that little predilection amusing in the extreme and wondered why Seymour bothered.  It intrigued him and didn't seem to fit.  Auron suspected that there was some kind of meeting going down and was itching to find out but knew his disguises weren't good enough to actually follow the blue-haired little shit into the tearoom.  He'd yet to figure out a way to approach the shoeshine man and elicit information without seeming suspicious.  High tea just wasn't something you took up as a hobby.  When he did the math, Auron was pretty sure it added up to one thing – the Yevon crew and Hong Kong.

The thought of busting anybody in Yevon gave Auron a hard-on.

Today, however, Seymour was not following his usual schedule.  The black Mercedes-Benz 450SEL that had pulled up to the shop to pick up the pimp was also a new development.   When it slipped uptown to a drycleaner's on 68th between 2nd and 3rd to deposit the punk, Auron had the taxi driver stop at Park Avenue and walked the short distance back.

What he saw when got there was even more interesting.

The problem was that apartments and co-ops surrounded the place - residences with men on the doors.  There was no good location to case the joint.  As Auron walked toward the cleaner's he watched as another black Mercedes pulled up and let out three men in black suits.  Gold flashed discreetly on each man's left hand.  By the time Auron was on the same block as the establishment, another Mercedes pulled up.  Out of the corner of his eye, while he moved passed, he saw another man in a black suit and a woman in a dark blue cheongsam dress get out.

That was all he needed to see.

Auron was pretty sure he'd just seen the three vanguards of Yevon – Kinoc, Mika, and Kelk - the Dragon Head Yunalesca, and her personal assassin go into that cleaners.  No one knew the real name of Yunalesca's henchman.  He was always simply referred to as Sin.  All you had to do to strike fear into the heart of anyone in Chinatown was mention that one word – Sin.  The triads did big business in Chinatown and Yevon did most of the smuggling of "human cargo".  Everybody owed them something or had a relative back home that Yevon could get to.  When you didn't make good on your commitments, Sin knocked on your door and gave you a lesson in "repentance."

It made Auron sick.  He would give anything to take just one of those bastards down.

Auron got all the way to Central Park before he roused himself from his thoughts.  Nailing Seymour was going to be a bonus compared to the prize he'd just found.  He sure wasn't going to give up on his goal of killing the blue-haired bastard, but he now had bigger fish to fry.  Of course, nobody was going to question if a lowlife pimp got shot during the bust – after all, collateral damage happened sometimes and was certainly acceptable when it was a punk like Seymour.

The grin that spread across Auron's face was almost evil. 


End file.
